


Put My Arms Around Every Boy I See (But They'd Only Remind Me of You)

by AceQueenKing



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Hook-Up, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6245944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nihlus, it's over,” didn't leave a lot of room for interpretation, but Nihlus still has a hard time moving on. </p><p>Thankfully, Garrus is there to lend a hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put My Arms Around Every Boy I See (But They'd Only Remind Me of You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninalanfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninalanfer/gifts).



“Are you sure about this _?_ ” Shepard asked, for the no-less-than-seventh-time since Virmire.

Nihlus ignored her, instead plotting the course to Ilos. He tried not think about what, exactly, he was doing: it wasn't the first time he had followed Saren, but it was the first time he felt _horrible_ about it.

“Sir, _”_ Shepard said crisply. He turned his head half in her direction; she saluted, though even to a turian it was obvious that she didn't mean it. Saren had never liked humans. Nihlus was struck by a wandering thought of what Saren would say about his apprentice. The very thought of Saren was a knife-blade stuck in his ribs. He took a deep breath, and she raised one of her eyebrows in confusion.  
  
“Sir? Do you have any final instructions for the _crew_ , sir?” Each word she said was carefully enunciated, but none more so than _crew_. Shepard enjoyed her rounds, and was instrumental in making each and every member of their motley crew feel at home. He knew she expected him to deal with the sudden loss of one of the members of their crew back on Virmire while Saren and Nihlus had fought tooth and claw.

The deepest blow, though, had been struck by what Saren had whispered in his ear even as his talons closed around his throat.

“ _Nihlus. It's over. Don't follow me.”_

In truth, he had been reeling so hard from Saren's words that he had barely noticed the soldier who had given his life to stay behind with the bomb.

Shepard had come to him almost immediately after, asking if they could send a death notice to Kaidan's family back on Earth. He'd rejected her suggestion immediately of course – it would be a major security risk, and he knew Saren well enough to know he might exploit the few seconds of data transmission to try to hack his way into their systems and disable the Normandy from a distance.

Shepard had glared at him, eyes narrowed before she had stonily uttered a _sir yes_ sir and Nihlus was shocked to realize that she'd honestly expected it to go a different way.

But what could he say? He had barely known the man. Giving one's life for one's government was expected. Shepard should know that, and it shocked him to think that perhaps his student did not understand the _fundamental_ truth of a soldier’s life: they fought for their homelands, or they died for them.  
  
Saren had uncharacteristically said nothing critical when he had broken the news of taking a human student. Now Nihlus wondered now if perhaps he had known this would happen. Or had he only been too preoccupied with what was to come?

Shepard cleared his throat and Nihlus remembered, all too late, that she was expecting him to say something.  
  
“I am going to my quarters. Have Moreau wake me upon our arrival,” he said, his voice cool. Shepard did not argue. She waited, as if needing more instructions, but he offered none, his mind still far too focused on silver claws and a sneering face. After a moment's hesitation, she walked away, but her hands were neatly balled into fists at her sides. It was obvious that she did not approve.

Shepard, he noticed, preferred to talk one on one with the crew after each mission, make sure each of them was well and fully informed. It would have been an admirable trait in a secretary – but it was a poor one in a soldier, especially a Spectre.

Saren had taught him that.

“ _Nihlus. It's over. Don't follow me.”_

 _That_ wound still ached, so he did what Saren would do, and simply ignored it.

He stormed down to the pitifully small Normandy Mess.  
  
He hated the weak glue paste that humans considered “food” safe for dextro consumption. He supposed he could not fault them for the taste – it wasn't as if they could sample it – and perhaps it was not even their fault. Certainly everything in his mouth had little taste since Eden Prime.

“They go down better if you take it with one of these,” Vakarian drawled as his toes clacked against the human's hard metal plating. He heard what could only be the distinct sound of something alcoholic being opened, and turned to find Vakarian clutching two bottles of dextro liquor.

“Thought you might be here,” he said, holding one out to him.

Nihlus inclined his head and took the alcohol in gratitude, tossing a brief sip back. It burned pleasantly; a good burn, a taste not unlike _Aetian_ wheat, and made the taste of the dextro protein bar much more bearable.

“Good stuff,” he said.

Vakarian nodded in return but said little; they ate and drank in companionable silence.  
  
“Shepard told you, I take it,” Nihlus said, though he suspected ‘told’ was less true than ‘overheard’.  
  
“She and Williams were talking,” Vakarian said, mandibles pulled tight to his jaw. “Your name might have come up once or twice.”  
  
“Ah.” Nihlus said. That confirmed it. Shepard had gone to Williams to complain, and no doubt the entire staff had overheard her.

“I don't agree with it.What they say. Humans don't...” Vakarian's mandibles twitched. “Don't seem to understand the chain of command. It's one thing when orders are wrong, but… Your orders have always been exemplary, sir.  
  
“Hmm,” Nihlus replied. Technically, he too was skirting the chain of command – he hadn't bothered to go back to the Citadel, even after learning the full extent of Saren's plans. He already knew that they'd never grant him the armada needed to capture him. He was well aware of the councilor's tendencies to play things cautiously. But unlike Shepard, he hadn't let his emotions get the best of him.

He'd pursue Saren even if it killed him.

Saren had taught him that he couldn't put his emotions in the way of his duties. Shepard might not understand that – but she would

“It's insubordination, sir,” Garrus said, his voice stern. “And I well – I thought you should know.”  
  
“Shepard is a fine soldier,” Nihlus said neutrally, his fingers playing with the rim of his bottle. He should have taken a turian apprentice; someone like Garrus, he thought, would have given him considerably fewer headaches. “But I will have a talk with her about her emotional outbursts.”

Garrus nodded grimly, his fingers tight on his bottle. “I never thought being on a human ship would be so strange. The way they prepare for high-stakes missions is...” He shook his head. “Well, it's different form home, isn't it?”  
  
Nihlus fingers gripped his bottle tightly. He nodded and swallowed; his chest felt so tight that he could barely breathe and did not trust himself with words. He hadn't been able to work out his stress for months, not since Saren had raised a gun to him.  
  
It had, in the end, mattered little that Saren had not taken the shot – he had shattered his heart all the same.  
  
The idea of bed-sport with another man was almost unbearable.

“I'm speaking out of turn,” Vakarian said, mandibles flaring. Clearly he looked uncomfortable, and Vakarian had picked up on it. “Sorry.”  
  
“It's fine.” Nihlus swallowed. “There certainly are some cultural differences. It's harder to find release in the human world.”

Garrus nodded, but said nothing. He found the silence troubling – it gave Nihlus more time to think.  
  
Of course, with Saren, he'd never had to bother to talk at all. Saren never chose words when action would do, and most of the time he'd been able to convey his intention even in the middle of a battlefield – the flicker of his hands across his gun, a jerk of his chin to signal incoming fire. Saren and he always had each other's back, kept each other alive in whatever blazing mess they got into. They had been the perfect team once, working together in perfect a harmony of fire and bullets and death. Saren had taught him how to stay alive, how to _feel_ alive.

Nihlus swallowed. He couldn't help but wonder, now, how much of Saren's blinding intensity had been for the express purpose of making it too hard for Nihlus to see. When had he changed? When had the man who had once slept next to him converted to the Reapers’ side?

And why had he never seen it?

Vakarian abruptly stood, the harsh scrape of the chair interrupting his brooding.

“I'm keyed up, too,” he said, a hand running down his cowl. “Do you want to spar?”

Nihlus paused for a moment. He could use the release right now.

Nihlus nodded his assent. Vakarian swallowed the rest of his liquor in one quick gulp; he supposed he was right tot be nervous about going hand to hand with a Spectre. But then Vakarian looked at him, a strange heat in his eyes, and Nihlus wondered if perhaps the fight was more prelude to a different physical release entirely.

He paused for a moment, looking up at Garrus with new eyes. He wasn't a bad looking young man – thin waist, long limbed.

Among turians, it would not have been unusual to combine bed-play with bloodsport. Expected even.

Vakarian mandibles fluttered suggestively. Definitively not just bloodsport tonight, then.

He closed his eyes a second, considers. He sees Saren, arm raised, gun pointed at his head, and he knows what he has to do.

He finished off the liquor in one neat flick of his mandibles. He stood and raised a hand for Vakarian to follow to the usual spot.  
  
\- - -

“So,” Garrus said, cracking his neck as he warmed up.

“Are you ready, Sir?” Vakarian asked, fidgeting with his talons. “For the battle, I mean. With Saren.”  
  
“I know him better than anyone else.” Nihlus sighed. “But even I don't know how this will turn out.”

Vakarian whipped off his top, throwing it into the corner. “Shepard and the others seem to think all we need to do is tackle him, sir.”  
  
Nihlus snorted as he pulled off his shirt.

“Saren never starts something he doesn't intend to finish,” he said, flexing his arms in a warm up.

“Well,” Vakarian said. “Neither do we.”  
  
“Ready?” he asked, skirting the unspoken question of _what are we going to do when we land on a Prothean planet that no one understands_ by taking the first combat form. When it doubt, fight it out; might as well be the turian army slogan.

“Bring it.” Vakarian grunted, putting his hands up in form two.

He struck out a quick punch, feeling out Vakarian's defenses; Vakarian played it cautious, not taking a swing of his own.

He grinned; he had guessed Vakarian would just attempt to hit him hard first and hope for momentum to swing his way. Instead, he'd played it smart.

Good. A challenge would feel better.

He went low, attempting to strike Vakarian square in the gut. Vakarian grabbed his arm and twisted him, sending him onto his back.

He felt the wind rush out of his lungs, a painful burn. Vakarian didn't execute a follow up attack, and for a moment he worried that they'd seriously injured one another until Vakarian tilted his head above him, mandibles in what could only be a smirk.

“Call it?” Vakarian asked. Little bastard wasn't even panting.

“No,” he said, and rolled, crisply turning into a sweep. Vakarian stumbled, but didn't go down; he aimed a kick at Vakarian head, but Vakarian blocked it, throwing him off.

“You're doing well tonight,” he said, his fist clenched. He went for another attack, but Vakarian deflected that too, leaving him turned around.

“Yield,” Vakarian murmured, his hand caressing Nihlus' thigh. Nihlus sighed and leaning into the stroke. It had been months since he'd last been with anyone; there had been no one since Saren. Vakarian touch was blessed, blessed relief.

“You're good with your hands,” he murmured, as Vakarian hand skirted higher, rubbing his rapidly hardening cock.

“Hand to hand specialist. Didn't you know?”

]“So you've mentioned. ” Nihlus closed his eyes as he let Vakarian's fingers work their magic on him; Vakarian was an old hand at this – his fingers expertly sliding from base to tip.

He groaned as Vakarian increased his pressure, talons tightening against his cock as Vakarian pumped him. His hips moved in rhythm underneath him, starting slowly at first but rapidly moving to match Vakarian's rhythm. It wasn't so different, with his eyes closed.

“Nice,” Vakarian grunted; Nihlus ignored him. It wasn't the voice he wanted to hear.

But Saren was not there. And Vakarian was.

Vakarian, a true turian's turian, pumped him hard, his fingers twisting as Nihlus shifted against his palm. Nihlus could feel the red hot heat burning in the base of his spine, and was surprised by its intrusion.

He felt his blood quickening in his veins; Vakarian was not Saren, perhaps, but Saren had never looked at him with such outright reverence and _honor._  
  
Somehow, it seemed impossible to think he could actually come from Vakarian's hands.

But then he did, quietly gawping in Vakarian's arms as the heat exploded through his veins.

“Thanks,” he said, panting. “Didn't know how much I needed that.”  
  
He leaned closer to Vakarian, debating if he should press his head to Vakarian's brow. His hand reached out to return the favor, when an alarm beeped.

“Sir?”  
  
“What is it, Mr. Moreau?” He was more than a little annoyed by the interruption, but tried to hide the tone of it from his voice.  
  
There was a soft click; Nihlus turned his head toward the wall as Moreau's voice hailed him over the speakers.

“Uh, Sir? We're coming out of the relay.”

“Understood.” He turned toward Vakarian. “Sorry, I – “  
  
“It's alright.” Vakarian smiled wanly. “Next time, Sir. Providing we both survive this, of course.”

– - -

He felt Ashley and Shepard's eyes on him the second he stepped off the elevator. Both were suited up and furious, their arms folded over in perfect mirrors of anger.

He ignored them. Instead, he caught Vakarian's eye as he walked into the cargo bay; they shared a nod.

He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable conclusion to his battle with Saren.

He doubted it would be easy, but at least he had someone watching his six.

**Author's Note:**

> Most special thanks to my beta, B, whose notes for this story included the lines, "GARRUS WAS A HAND TO HAND SPECIALIST. he must have jerked off a fucking battalion's worth of turians."


End file.
